The only thing is that my luck has been
so confoundedly bad of late."
"Yes; and when the luck's against you, you go betting on no hands at
all--with Miles waiting for you!" his companion exclaimed. "All right;
every man must play the game his own way. You don't seem to have found
it profitable so far."
"Profitable!" Lionel said, with a dark look in his eyes. "I can tell you
I am in a tight corner, and I reckoned on to-night to settle it one way
or the other--not with you fellows, I can't get anything worth while out
of you, but with Miles. And now he's gone away home with--"
He stopped in time; ladies' names are not mentioned in clubs--at least,
not in such clubs as the Garden.
"The odd thing is," continued Johnny, as he lit a cigarette, and
definitely refused to have any more of the wine, "the extremely odd
thing is that he doesn't seem to care to win from the rest of us. He
lets us share our modest little pots as if they weren't worth looking
at. It's you he goes for, invariably."
"And he's gone for me to some purpose," Lionel said, morosely. "I'm just
about broke--broke five or six times over, if it comes to that--and by
that pennyworth of yellow ribbon!"
"You needn't call him names," said Johnny, as he lay back in his chair.
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